Cough Syrup Conundrum
by SomeoneNew86
Summary: John insists that Sherlock take some cold medicine when Sherlock is sick. He takes too much, leading to a very odd dream for the detective.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes**

* * *

"I do insist. And I'm not trying to be a nurse, I'm a doctor remember," said John sternly.

"I don't need another addiction Watson; and this stuff reeks of it, it's bad enough you have to hide my cigarettes from me," said Sherlock lifting the bottle of cold medicine up to the light and squinting at the bright red liquid as light filtered through the bottle.

John rubbed his temples "Sherlock, you can't keep going this way without taking something, this _is _children's cold medicine for heaven's sake. If you would have listened to my professional opinion days ago you would most likely be feeling back to normal by now."

Sherlock shot him a dirty glance "You know I don't do well sitting still when there's _SO _much out there! I have all the time in the world to laze about here when crime is miserably low but how can I think of resting when it's busy season?"

"Busy season?" John said incredulously "Crime isn't like spring or winter; it happens when it happens."

"Oh contraire friend," said Sherlock. He folded his hands behind his back and began pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

"Do you not see it? Out there right now, everyone is in a hurry to do their Christmas shopping, moving quickly but rarely watching who they're around. Pickpockets are a small matter though. Think of all the families off to visit their lovely, little old grandmothers in the countryside. And out come the baddies ready to get to work, unwatched homes galore waiting to be broken into! This Watson; is their playground!"

John gave Sherlock an incredulous look "You really are sick aren't you? Since when have break ins ever been a challenge for you, much less interesting? You're almost delirious. Sit down, I'm going to make you a cup of tea and fetch the thermometer, seems like you got a touch of fever."

As John made his way into the kitchen Sherlock was overcome with a wave of dizzying fatigue. Still in his coat he slumped into the sofa chair. He looked at the bottle of children's cold medicine on the coffee table and reached to grab it…reading the label for dosages he scoffed. Twisting the lid off the bottle he tilted his head back and took a large gulp downing close to half the bottle. He coughed a bit gagging at the sickly bittersweet cherry flavor and threw the rest of the bottle carelessly aside. He watched rivulets of the medicine spread across the floor; the bright red brought to his mind Irene Adler's lip stick. The image on the label of a sweetly smiling girl with light brown hair in a ponytail reminded him of Molly Hooper. The startling contrasts between the women went through his mind as his eyelids grew heavy and a drug-induced sleep took over.

Watson returned to the living room with a mug of steaming hot tea. He took note of a sleeping Sherlock and sighed to himself,

"You weren't even considerate enough to wait." He shook his head laughing aloud. "He's certainly no gent when he's feeling well, laughable to expect any better when he's ill. Oh well, no use in wasting a good cup of tea" he said raising it to his lips. As he sipped the tea he looked at the sleeping figure of Sherlock through the hot curls of steam that rose from the mug. "Wonder what the bloke dreams about; probably solving crimes right this minute in that head of his."

_Sherlock looked around him; he had the odd feeling he'd been to this place before. The soft gold and cream colored walls and the overly expensive upholstered furniture put him at unease in the large, somewhat empty room. Everything in the room was tidy and had a touch of elegance everywhere he looked. He much preferred a room out of sorts; it was far easier to read the habits and personality of a person who left their personal items lying about. He could not comprehend the extreme déjà vous he felt; he was embarrassed at the sluggish realization that he had been in this place before, he was remembering…or something like it. The feeling that someone was about to enter tugged at his mind. Turning his head towards the doorway he anticipated looking into the sharp blue eyes of Irene Adler. His mind boggled, he was supposed to be seeing a nude Irene before him but instead stood Molly Hooper. And rather than nude, she was self consciously standing in a white bath robe. _

"_What the…HOW?" He said staring angrily at Molly; he did not like this topsy-turvy place._

"_Molly padded over to him in white slippers that matched her bathrobe "You're in a dream Sherlock," she said smiling shyly holding her arms around her as if the bathrobe would fall off at any moment._

"_I've dreamt plenty of times before! Explain to me how you are able to tell me what's going on Hooper and I wasn't able to immediately identify I was in a dream," he said indignantly. _

"_Well, you see…those dreams were your average ones. This one is a bit different…uh, well…you had a tad bit more medicine than you should of and…"_

"_Oh shut up Molly, you're as verbally clumsy in my dream as you are in reality," said Sherlock rolling his eyes._

"_Mmm, well you see Sherlock you're going to need me in this dream so if I were you brush up on your manners while you can." She returned more aggressively than the Molly Hooper in reality would. _

"_Alright, I'm listening," Sherlock replied not disguising a condescending tone._

_Molly walked over to a chair and sat down, smoothing out her bathrobe with her hands before clearing her throat,_

_Sherlock's eyebrow rose in amusement at her modesty "You know, in reality when Irene was here she sat in that very chair naked,"_

_Molly's mouth tightened and an expression of disdain crossed her face "I know...and as I was in her place I found myself naked here too! You have no idea how long it took me to find this, I stumbled upon it on accident, and rather glad too…it was this or the tablecloth from the foyer."_

"_The tablecloth would of suited you better…the bathrobe adds five pounds to your figure easily…not that you can see you even have a figure wrapped up in that," remarked Sherlock derisively. _

"_I'll begin by explaining," said Molly not acknowledging Sherlock's insult._

_As soon as Molly started to talk Sherlock's eyes glinted as another insult was forming on the tip of his tongue. Molly felt the need to silence him as time was running short._

"_No no, close your mouth Holmes," said Molly wagging her finger playfully. " I'm going to need you to listen this time. You won't have any time for insults if you're dead so listen up."_

"_Holmes? You've never called me that."_

_Sherlock blinked in surprise, he wondered if Irene Adler had taken the disguise of mousy Molly Hooper._

"_Oh that minx would come up with something like that," Sherlock thought._

"_And I'm not Irene if that's what you're wondering," smiled Molly knowingly. _

"_That's exactly what I'm thinking," said Sherlock crossing his leg over the other and interlocking his fingers. He stared intensely at Molly his glacier blue eyes honed in on her,_

"_The question is how did you, the "dream" you, figure my thoughts out? My dreams, though not as orderly as reality as I experience it have always carried over from my subconscious which is focused on useful information and memories. My brain seems to be content not to waste time while I sleep either. And YOU are not the Molly stored in my mind. Besides, I've always known Molly to be better at figuring things out through the lens of a microscope."_

_Molly's soft laughter floated in the air taunting Sherlock. "Tsk Tsk Sherlock, insult me again and I might leave you in here…you wouldn't make it very far though."_

"_I hardly see why I should care, as I'm in a dream nothing that happens here affects reality. I would save myself trouble by sitting here waiting to die so I can finally wake up out of this...whatever it is."_

"_If you were to die this would become a nightmare…you being outsmarted and defeated? What could be worse for the great "Sherlock" than to be beaten by his own muddled subconscious? I know you well enough to say that you should definitely stick around for the end of this," said Molly._

_Sherlock wore a sour expression but decided to listen to Molly,_

"_Alright Molly, if you are as clever as you seem what are your plans for the intruders who be here approximately two minutes from now…if I am remembering correctly."_

"_Before I give you an answer let me ask you a question first Holmes," said Molly._

_She stood up and sauntered towards Sherlock's chair. She then sat daintily on the arm rest and put an arm around Sherlock. She leaned close to him and he could smell a soft floral perfume. She whispered in his ear,  
_

"_This whole time we've been talking haven't you wondered…where is Watson?"_

_The last soft whispered word had left her mouth when the loud crack of gunshots and material damage resounded as bullets pierced through wood._

_In one deft move Molly had went from sitting on the arm rest to balancing on it like a gymnast, she then leapt on the top of the chairs back throwing her slight weight into it with incredible force. Sherlock tipped back with the chair but flipped the rest of his body over onto the floor to lay flat from any gunshots that might be in the air. He saw the legs of a man wearing black shoes and pants and based on Molly's question was certain of who it was._

"_You've got to be kidding me…my subconscious has a lot to answer for when I wake up" mumbled Sherlock as he looked up into and met Watson's gaze._

_Looking up he saw the same familiar face of Watson but wearing a grimmer expression…and an eye patch. _

"_You've got to be kidding me…."said Sherlock looking up in disbelief from the floor._


End file.
